Bogeyman's Pet
by Lawliet Veneziano
Summary: Pitch Black is the Bogeyman, the most dangerous and prolific serial killer in the last century. Driven by a love for bringing out the fear in every one of his victims and a kinship to the shadows, he thinks only of the fun of the hunt and the looks on their faces when he catches his prey. Then one day he chooses he wishes to keep this one instead...(AU, serial killer!Pitch)
1. A Songbird and the Bogeyman

There was something lovely about a moonlit night; perhaps it was the feeling of being watched over by something high above, or perhaps the excess of shadows which covered so many areas of the world in such a way that the sun just could never cast in the daylight. There was a lovely mixture of delight and excitement, and fear and anxiety; there was a feeling that every shadow could be a cloak in which to watch the world, and also that within every shadow was a monster ready to strike.

He was not expecting to find anyone else on the streets so late at night, not currently at least; he had seen the signs posted on every other light post as he had been making his way over. Signs that warned against walking alone, signs that spoke about the dangers and the deaths; they warned about "the Boogeyman", a ridiculous name if he said so himself. What a silly name for a serial killer, "Boogeyman"; it sounded like a child's dream rather than a prolific mass murderer such as him. He much preferred the name "King of Nightmares", or better yet his actual name Pitch Black. Now that, that suited someone who stalked the darkness and shadows, feeding on the fears of those stupid enough to venture out alone. And once more he hadn't been expecting any prey tonight; the news, the signs, the police in general, they had all been doing such a wonderful job of terrifying the general populace for him but unfortunately that fear had been used to keep them all inside, where it was at least relatively safer. There was no children wandering the night, no lovers on a rendezvous under the moon, no anyone taking their chances with the shadows. Except for, of course, that one.

He was currently burying a body; yes, his hunting had been stunted by the warnings of his, the Bogeyman's, existence but not completely stopped. He had found the boy on his own earlier on, when the sun was still up; the child had run away from his parents, such a disobedient little brat, screaming, running. Running right into Pitch's clutches; the look on his face as the pale man set upon him, as he smiled so cruelly and chased him down, as the knife was drawn and the throat slit, it had all been quite delicious. And now, in the foundation of a house to be built, he buried the body in the ground, knowing it was unlikely to be found for quite a while, that the boy was already missed; he was finishing up actually covering up the body in dirt when he heard something, a voice. At least he wasn't sure he heard anything, after all no one should be up, but being the cautious sort he made his way up, looking over the edge of the foundation to look upon the street below, glad for the slight hill the house was to be built upon for the cover it gave him. For a moment all there was was the voice getting closer then finally, from out of the shadows cast by the trees, someone did appear.

It was, or appeared to be, a girl, no, young woman; she was perhaps a bit small for her age, and the way she dressed didn't make that any better but she didn't really seem like a child. She wore a black bowler hat on her head, obscuring her eyes and the rest of the upper part of her face from view, a strange sight on anyone in this day and age; a black hoodie jacket covered up her upper body, protecting her some from the mildly cold night, yet it was paired with a skirt of all things. Of course considering the heat from the day this was perhaps not all that strange; he took note of the backpack on her back and the laptop in her arms, the strange lanyard around her neck and the small black purse bouncing at her side. She didn't seem to be the type to care what she wore; he was the type who didn't care even if she was a fashionista. She was out, she was there, and she was dangerously close to where he was burying a body; this all meant one thing to him.

Once more the devil's grin crossed his lips and watching her for a second as she walked along the portion of street in front of him, the sidewalk there gone currently because of construction, he then turned to make sure the boy was thoroughly covered up, grabbed his shovel and made his way out of the hole. A careless toss to one side where no one would even question the existence of a shovel among the mess he then swiftly followed after her, keeping a few good steps behind; Pitch made sure his shadow didn't cross her sight when they walked near and under the light, not wishing to alert her. A sly predator never let their prey have a thought to them being there after all; he found himself feeling a bit giddy after a bit, amused and excited by the hunt as always; this young woman would rue ever walking out in the night alone but only until the moment she dies. He wondered how lovely her face would look in fear.

He'd only been following her for a minute or so when he heard her voice again and for a moment he was unsure why but he realized she was singing; it wasn't often he came across something like that though. People did occasionally sing as they walked, he knew this, and he knew that music was supposed to make time move faster for those listening, but someone singing while alone walking at night? That was like advertising that you were without anyone else with you, that you were there and ripe for the picking. She didn't even sing softly, seeming to be delighting in singing at full strength her melody; her voice carried and for a moment he looked around, worried she'd be heard, that someone would look out to see what was going on and see him stalking her. Oh that would definitely be bad; he bore his teeth, realizing he should probably end this quick and started to move to get closer to her but didn't. Instead he just kept staring at her and listening, listening to the slight lilts and rising tones of her song; it was a sweet song, he could tell that, but it wasn't because of the words he knew this. He barely heard the words. Rather she herself told him; there was emotion to the way her voice caressed each note, a dance, and it told him this was a sweet song and that she was happy. He liked it; it wasn't often he took a moment to appreciate others but even he had to admit that the singing was rather pretty and he allowed himself a smile.

After the song ended she simply switched to another and Pitch simply followed behind her like a shadow a few steps behind as she sang and walked, unwilling yet to end her when she was in the midst of such sweet music; it seemed like such a waste and soon enough he even started to relax, his hands behind his back and his smile set right where it was as they walked and he listened. He looked up, saw the moon and how large it was tonight; larger tomorrow apparently, completely full tomorrow, it seemed to be already large and full enough. It seemed to also be glaring at him and he was tempted to laugh but didn't wish to interrupt; he settled for smirking up at the celestial body as if to say "what are you going to do about it?" then turn his gaze back to the young woman in time to see her take a turn down one street, and he realized that the songs may be ending. He stopped at that turning point yet kept his eyes on her, watching her lower her voice as if not to wake any of the sleeping bodies in the houses around around her and then open a mailbox, removing some mail before going up to one of the houses. No more music, no more song; he straightened up and frowned. Time to strike he supposed...though it was risky there; perhaps death for this one prey wouldn't be the right way. But neither was escape; he couldn't just let prey escape, not one with such a pretty voice who braved the darkness and night without a care. He watched her enter the house and only then did his smile return; no, escape nor death, neither of these would touch her, not by his hand. He would simply have to do the next best thing...

There was a delay of an hour but it was actually quite easy getting inside, no one apparently in the house thinking to lock any of the doors including the front door; Pitch got in without making a sound and without alerting anyone, sneaking in like a shadow. A cat slept on a nearby table and though it woke to his arrival all it did was open a single golden eye, staring at him, then went back to it's slumber; he was not surprised by this. The house was dark and the only noise was snoring from a nearby room; investigation into it found a woman sleeping peacefully in bed, her face slightly illuminated by the blue glow of a TV set. He grimaced, finding the sort who slept in such ways to be disturbing, before turning to look at the door across from that room; it was closed and everything seemed to be quiet in there yet he could just feel it. His prey was in there.

Carefully he opened that door, trying to not make any noise or alert the inhabitant if they were inside; the room was also lit with only one dim light though this was not a TV. It was the laptop and he could hear the lowered voices of a show being played on it, yet the person in the bed, sleeping now, had obviously not fallen asleep watching it. Her face was turned from it, as if only interested in the sounds rather than the sights; looking about he found, in the darkness, her hat sitting on an overcrowded dresser and her jacket laying on her bags by the door. There was a bookshelf full of books and a few stuffed animals but nothing of real interest except her; approaching her he saw how peaceful she seemed, fast asleep despite only being seen a little over an hour ago. She must have been tired; looking at the clock on her laptop screen he could see why. 2:10 AM, it was very late, or early depending on the opinion. He didn't feel tired though he found; rather instead he felt...exhilarated. This was a new prey and he was excited to take it.

Pitch started by gently removing her covers from on top of her; she was dressed in a nightgown now, being still long enough to allow the hem to be by her ankles still. He carefully moved her some then, stopping when she seemed to be waking only for her to stay sleeping; he got her onto her back and then lifted her into his arms. Her head rested against his chest and she seemed to instinctively respond to that, snuggling closer to him with one hand reaching up some to grip at the fabric of his dark shirt. She looked so young and he could see her face now; she really had the face of someone younger, with a small nose and small mouth, framed by black locks of hair. His guess by appearance was a teenager yet still there was this sense about her of someone older, twenties at least, yet either way what did it matter?

With a smirk he grabbed her hat from where it lay and set it on her head gently before whisking her away, the would-be Bogeyman stealing a not-so-child into the night.

* * *

Vene: Yes my first Rise of the Guardian's fanfic!~

Nihon: This is of course AU. Where, what and who the other Guardians are is still not decided.

Vene: Yeah so please do review and say what you think so I can know whether to write a second chapter!~

Nihon: Though admittedly? We know Vene still will.

Pitch *grins evilly as he kidnaps the young lady*


	2. In the Lair of Darkness

She was certainly, as the young woman opened her eyes, that she was not where she belonged nor was she where she had originally been sleeping. There was a strange fragrance to the air, different than the scent of the flowers that lay just outside her open window back home; she didn't know what to call it, though it felt somewhat familiar to her. She did know though that it was not a scent native to her home and thus should definitely not be there.

The sights she saw upon waking only concreted this idea though; a vast view of dark fabric greeted her, a canopy above her head. Beyond it to one side she could see a window, drawn closed with violet curtains; a nightstand lay nearby and upon it was her hat, laying there under an antique lamp as if it was natural. To the other side, turning her head, she saw the rest of what seemed to be the room she had been brought to; an old dresser, a standing wardrobe, an antique table with a chair and yet another lamp, identical to the one on the nightstand. Most of the furniture was made of wood and looked quite old, like they had passed the passage of centuries rather than the mere years her own furniture back home had; it was certainly not her room and she didn't know of anyone who had a room with things like it. Which only left one thing, an immediate and frightening thought.

She frowned as the thought came to her and she tried to shake it free, wish it away. The woman knew better than to think this was a mistake, there were no mistakes when you fall asleep in one place and wake up somewhere completely different; this was deliberate and she knew what had happened but she didn't particularly wish to think about the fact that she knew this. No one much would she believed; she got up and off of the bed, taking note that she still wore her nightgown from when she had gone to bed. Whether this was a reassuring idea or not was unclear but at least it seemed her clothes had not been tampered with or changed while she had been asleep; she didn't feel any different, no wooziness or dizziness, no feeling of being drugged or something far worse. It seemed she had only been moved, though as she looked over at the nightstand it would seem her hat was brought with her for one reason or another. She reached over the bed and grabbed it from where it lay, plopping it onto her head before standing again on her own feet and looking towards the door; it was closed and a thought that perhaps it was locked too came to her. Is that not how it usually was? That the door would be locked in situations like that so that the captive couldn't get away?

Still she made her way over, her bare feet making no noise over the hardwood floor; she reached out with some hesitation, the thought floating about in her mind, telling her that it would be useless; of course she had to be locked in. But she gripped the doorknob, feeling the cold metal against her skin, and turned it; there seemed to be no resistance, a slight click following before, as she pulled it slightly, the door did indeed open. The thought melted away but in it's place came questions, mostly of why the door wasn't locked then and of course where she was; she ventured out though without a word, intent upon finding out.

The young woman was in a hallway now; windows lined the opposite wall, similarly drawn with curtains but these were slightly open. Approaching them she could see out into a dark forest and the night sky; she could barely make out lights in the distance but it was unclear whether this was of a city, what city then, or simply other houses. She could make out no landmarks in the darkness and with a sigh turned from the sight, returning her attention to the hall before her; more doors went down the way she was looking and as she glanced behind her she saw a dead end with a painting hung up depicting a dark scene. Swirls of shadows, almost humanoid in appearance but without any distinguishing features, and a lone form separated from the rest by some light space; it seemed hunched over, as if cowering from the shadows, afraid of them. She frowned some and felt shivers run down her back; once more she shook her head and headed down the hall, wishing instead to focus on finding out more about her surroundings.

After some walking she came to the end, faced with a staircase; of course she went down it, seeing no other recourse but to do so and seeing no reason not to. She ran her hand over the top of the banister; lifting her hand she saw a layer of dust covered her hand now, thick enough to denote that it had been perhaps quite a few years since the last time it was dusted or cleaned at all. There was a distinct lack of lighting as well except for a few well-placed candle in their hanging posts upon the walls; it gave a gloomy and dark feeling to the place, almost haunted. She swallowed any fear she may have had, knowing it would be pointless now to allow fear to overtake her, as much as it would have been to let her imagination to so; something was going on after all. With her head held high she continued on until she reached a landing at which the stairs she'd been climbing down met at a spot with another set coming from the other direction; if the other stairs led to a similar hall than the one she'd been in she supposed that meant then that this was a rather big house, much bigger than her own; looking down the rest of the stairs that would take her to the ground floor she could barely see much, the amount of light even more sparse than above. Carefully she dislodged one of the candles from its places, holding it in her hand before descending the rest of the steps.

Her feet touched the first floor and she stopped for a moment, holding the candle out in front of her as she looked around; it was easier at least some to see now and she could make out a few more doors, including what seemed to be a pair of double doors leading outside. Somehow though she wasn't as interested by them; she noticed from one door a sliver a light peeking though from the crack it was open. There didn't seem to any noises from inside but as it was the first sight of possible life she'd found the girl was attracted to it. Like a moth to a flame; she approached the door and grabbed the doorknob, pausing for a moment to think on whether this really may be wise but pulling it open more anyway. There was no life without risks after all, she decided to herself.

The room she found was not dark nor gloomy and it was not devoid of others; it appeared to be a kitchen, one with a strange sort of mix of old and new. An old stove, a newer oven; the cabinets were obviously original to the house but well-maintained, and a microwave sat on a marble countertop alongside a large refrigerator. There was something on the stove and the girl caught another smell, different than one from before; it smelled delicious though and without thinking she smiled some and even took a step in, This prompted a chuckle, slightly low but playful, to break the silence and she turned her head quickly to look over at where, at a small table off by the window, a man sat. He looked to be completely comfortable, as well as utterly unsurprised by her being there; the man wore a long black coat, open to show his dark shirt and pants underneath. His skin was on the paler side of light, his face slightly sunken and his black hair on the messy side but slicked back; two eyes stared at her, mixed gold and silver so they reminded her of the color of the ring around the moon and sun during an eclipse. He was older, she could tell this immediately, and even sitting she could tell he was also taller than she was; long fingers were wrapped around the handle of a teacup in one hand and he smirked at her lightly as he brought said cup to his lips, keeping his eyes on her as he took a sip. Then a voice, cool with a tinge of an accent, spoke to her and she felt shivers run through her again,"I see you're awake, little songbird."

He beckoned with his free hand towards an empty chair and she hesitated for a moment, staring at the chair then back at him, not speaking, not sure she should; he raised a thin eyebrow and spoke once more, his voice carrying some authority now, "Sit down."

She obeyed, sitting down quickly upon the chair; she held her candle upon her lap and seeing this he frowned some and reach out, taking it from her.

"Now we don't want you accidentally burning your pretty little nightgown, now do we, songbird?" he said and he set the candle inside an empty holder upon the table; his gaze was away from her for only a minute though before he turned back to her, "Now would you like anything to eat? Perhaps some tea?"

With a slight motion of his hand he brought her attention to the tea set out on the table, the pot with a container for the sugar laying nearby an empty cup. He had obviously been expecting her to wake soon; she looked at the set-up then back at him. She felt uneasy about him; he seemed and acted friendly but he felt off, and something told her this was the man who had brought her here, though for what reason still escaped her. She didn't remember ever seeing him before, she was sure they had never met before yet for whatever reason he had brought her here; she was unharmed, unchanged, only removed from her home and taken elsewhere. Having found herself in a strange house, with a strange man and no idea of why, she would need to be an idiot to not be hesitant about accepting tea from him or anything else.

Finally though she found her voice and she spoke directly to the stranger, managing not to have her voice shake or waver despite all the thoughts starting to stir in her mind again. "Why am I here? Who are you?"

He blinked for a moment, as if not expecting the inquiry; the truth was far from that honestly. Pitch had been fully aware she may start asking questions. Seeing her sitting there, looking even younger than she had before, staring at him with a mixture of both curiosity and that emotion he so loved, fear, he found that both he had expected no less than wonder on what was going on from her and he was quite pleased with his own choice to take her. It had been impulse, just barely thought out; she had had a pretty voice and he had felt like taking her and keeping her. Perhaps he would kill her, who knew currently, but at this very moment? No, he didn't plan on murdering her, nor poisoning her.

"You're in my home, songbird," he said and set his cup down so he could pour her one; he didn't look at her as he did, sparing her the scrutinizing gaze he knew may only be making her feel less at ease with him, "And I am Pitch, Pitch Black."

"Why am I here?" she repeated and he sighed some.

"Because you are, because I choose to bring you here. Would you like some sugar?" He offered her her cup and once more the young woman hesitated but finally took the cup and stared into the water; he watched her for a moment, wondering if she would throw the cup in his face, try to make her escape. That sounded like such a grand old idea, something straight out a novel or movie: the sweet young captive, escaping the clutches of the evil villain, running to the door only to be overtaken and imprisoned once more, or overcome her captor and make her way to the world outside. Though how far she would get in the forest outside barefoot in her nightgown would need to be seen; still he humored the idea of simply allowing her to do so simply to see if she could actually make it. It wasn't like he couldn't probably easily grab her again anyway.

Yet none of that happened; she instead looked at him again and spoke, "I wouldn't mind some sugar."

He was a bit surprised but smiled anyway and nodded once before picking up the small teaspoon in the sugar jar, spooning a little into her cup then stirring it for her. She then took a sip, closing her eyes for a moment; Pitch continued to watch her, waiting to hear more, to have her keep asking. He knew for certain she would.

He was not disappointed. "Why me?"

"Because I heard your voice," he answered truthfully and she looked back up at him, seeming to furrow her brow under her hat; he chuckled lightly and clarified, "I heard you singing, songbird; I rather liked it."

"You don't need to keep calling me songbird, I do have a name," she said frowning lightly at him.

"Would I calling you something else make you stop frowning?" She seemed taken aback by the exact wording of that and didn't know what to say; he continued on, "I don't think it much matters what your birth name is; I never have much cared for those names people place upon us...though I suppose then I should stop calling you a name I myself am forcing upon you."

He chuckled once more, amused by his own hypocrisy honestly and she stared at him before feeling his gaze on her again, silver-gold eyes piercing through her yet meeting her own; he spoke, "What then would you say I should call you? Please don't say the name you were given at birth please, something else, something preferably only I would get to call you."

She thought, actually thought on this; it seemed crazy, silly and definitely odd. He disliked names placed upon people; did that mean he disliked his own? Why would he want a name to call her that only he would? She would much prefer just telling him her actual name, her real name, but she felt stopped by his gaze; part of her wished to run from it, run from him, but she was immobilized. And staring back at him those thoughts and questions she had before started to quiet until she felt alone in her own mind and uncertain what to do.

Still the young woman opened her mouth and Pitch took note the oddity in her own being; clear crimson eyes stared right back at him as she spoke, "Nakidori..."

"Nakidori," he repeated and smirked some, quite amused; obviously this was going to be more interesting than he had originally though, perfect, "Good choice..."

* * *

Vene: Wow a chapter two and so quick.

Nihon: Let's blame the good mood.

Vene: Yup!~ Anyway hopefully this is good and okay. Nakidori by the way means "songbird" or "bird with a beautiful song". Which is why Pitch likes the name for our young heroine.

Nihon: Anyway, please do review!

Nakidori*nods* Yes please.

Pitch*smirks* We'll be waiting...


End file.
